JFIFC    $ &%# #"(-90(*6+"#2D26;=@@@&0FKE>J9?@=C  =)#)==================================================4K" }!1AQa"q2#BR$3br %&'()*456789:CDEFGHIJSTUVWXYZcdefghijstuvwxyz w!1AQaq"2B #3Rbr $4%&'()*56789:CDEFGHIJSTUVWXYZcdefghijstuvwxyz ?HqW"cZ0n'Ӭ\E"#\66ol ܊7"֣I &.dT⩖.aH{(e;pU-PsIk]R<gHep6לTodh$-#pf֬C"Wn;Se [9kFPӵ Bk9]Y:dNjUw@[{ t$ԵUcRrIү74 ?ucWvDѩZwb5M.Q$s?2EFz_(<.G]4>#HXFr?Z(C͡m/mfI]ݵHEaʻv$+& 0 YWzm*d2d#qQEU=ɬ :R[l? underclassmen congratulating us on a great season. Yet it didn't matter much, because our minds were overflowing with sadness, pride and regret at the same time. Tears were still coming from my eyes as I took the tape off my arms and took off my cleats for the last time. We were conference champs, state semifinalists, and we had a record of 11-2, and yet it wasn't enough. We didn't want it to end. <br>That day wasn't supposed to come; we had worked so hard as a class for so many years. I think back to the months we came in at six-thirty every morning to work out. To the summer lifting and running, to the long practices in August, and to the cold nights in November. I still remember then being the most fulfilling and fun times of our lives; we made lifelong bonds on the field and in that weight room. We truly were brothers, and we had worked for every inch we got.<br>I remember the day